


The Queen and Her Knight

by queenmevesknickers



Category: Thronebreaker: The Witcher Tales (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27366331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenmevesknickers/pseuds/queenmevesknickers
Summary: "Half the sum of attraction, on either side, might have been enough, for he had nothing to do, and she had hardly anybody to love; but the encounter of such lavish recommendations could not fail. They were gradually acquainted, and when acquainted, rapidly and deeply in love."- Jane Austen,PersuasionMeve and Reynard are drawn to each other almost from the moment they meet - and it's an attraction they are unable to deny. But bonds of marriage and loyalty quickly pull them apart, seemingly for good.Can they ever find their way back to each other?
Relationships: Meve (The Witcher)/Reynard Odo
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? My love of Thronebreaker has slightly collided with my Jane Austen feels. This story isn't inspired by Persuasion, per se - but if you know Anne and Wentworth's love story, then you ~know~ what's up.

It was a bright day, just at the beginning of summer, that found Meve on the archery range at Rivia Castle, cursing softly to herself as another arrow went wide in the breeze. It was the last one in her quiver, so she waited patiently as one of the servants hurried to collect the errant shafts and return them to her. She shut her eyes and tipped her head back to enjoy the sunshine on her face.

It had been two months since her arrival in the Rivian court and her marriage to King Reginald, and things were going about as well as might reasonably be hoped. Meve was not romantic – she’d agreed to the union on the strength of its political advantage; she did not harbour any girlish dreams of love. She counted herself lucky to find that her husband was kind and affectionate, and seemed genuinely interested in her thoughts and opinions. It did grate on her, a little, to have gone from heir to the throne of her own country to playing second fiddle here in her new court, and Reginald’s lack of interest in statesmanship was beginning to frustrate her. She did not doubt the accounts of his valour on the battlefield, but when it came to more day-to-day ruling, he seemed to show little interest. Still, she had noticed how he valued wise counsel, and thought in time she would gain his trust and respect and win influence – and then she could forge her own destiny once more. But for now, she had to wait and be patient – a sore trial to her, as boredom and irritation crept in little by little every day.

She had no audience for her archery practice today; she had made few friends here so far. Half the ladies of the court seemed to consider it a personal affront that she preferred sparring to needlework and scorned her preference for outdoor pursuits over endless hours inside, huddled over inane gossip. The other half, bizarrely, seemed to consider her a rival for her own husband’s affections, which irritated Meve endlessly. As if she cared who he bedded! As if it were not a relief to her that he wasn’t in her bed every night. But it annoyed her immensely how openly he pursued any woman who caught his eye, with no care for the tensions and trouble it caused. And also, she had to admit, she resented how she was expected to simply grin and bear it when her husband brazenly took his pleasure wherever he liked, knowing that she would never be allowed the same freedom.

She exhaled, trying not to let her vexation ruin the day. The ladies of the court would get used to her soon enough, and things would smooth over, though she doubted she would ever feel close to any of them. She found the company of Reginald’s companions equally tedious; they were all of the same mould – affable, boisterous, and as dull in conversation as a ton of bricks. Well, all except one.

He was younger than the rest of them, about her own age, she thought, and quieter; at first, she had thought Reynard Odo must be very shy. But she had realised it was merely that he was reserved – when he did speak, it was always worth listening to, and if he told a joke, Meve would find it was the only one of the evening that provoked genuine laughter from her. She had often found herself in his company, on the fringe of Reginald’s unruly court – she was an outsider, still, and he seemed to be something of a man apart. She’d been glad to finally find someone she could converse with so readily, who met her questions about Rivia and its people with more than a blank look. It was nice to have one friend, at least, she thought - and tried not to think about the way she’d seen him look at her sometimes, with his dark eyes, and how it made her heart race.

Her arrows finally returned to her, Meve prepared to take aim once more – when she heard a greeting in a now-familiar voice.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” called Reynard as he approached with a bow. “You’ve traded th’ long sword for your bow today, I see.”

“Yes – and am now realising how out of practice I am,” she said, with a rueful smile. “I’ve never cared much for ranged weapons, but thought I should dust off my bow before th’ hunting season begins. And glad I am of it now, for I fear I shall make a fool out of myself if I cannot improve my aim before then.”

“I can’t believe you’re as bad as you say, after seeing you in th’ practice yard. I would’ve taken you for a keen hunter, my lady.”

She smiled again. “Oh, I’m handy enough with a spear or javelin, but I feared that might be something of an overkill for th’ smaller game.”

He laughed at that. “Perhaps it might be. I must confess, th’ bow's not my preferred weapon either, but I spent enough time in th’ woods as a boy chasing after small game, that my aim’s not half bad – if you wish I could…”

“Oh, yes please, Count Odo. I need all the help I can get.”

“Perhaps start by showing me – though I still don’t believe you’re as hopeless as you pretend.”

“All right – but make sure you stand well clear of th’ targets,” she warned, which made him laugh again, though he did as she said.

This effort did not fare quite so badly as the last few, the arrow at least managing to clip the edge of the target this time. She cursed under her breath; she thought she’d lined it up well, but the wind had caught her off guard again.

“You see?” she said, turning to Reynard, shrugging. “I shall doubtless bring down some poor courtier by accident instead of my quarry.”

He shook his head. “As I suspected, you exaggerated greatly, Your Grace,” he said with a smile. “Your form is excellent – you need but learn how to compensate for th’ breeze.”

“And how do I do that?” she demanded.

“Well, they do say practise makes perfect.”

She groaned. “I thought you might say that.”

“You’ll get th’ hang of it soon enough if you keep at it – may I?” He took the bow and an arrow from her. She watched him draw the bowstring, aim, make a small adjustment, then loose the arrow. It was not a perfect shot, but it came very close to the centre of the target, far better than any of her attempts that morning.

“You make it look so easy,” she grumbled.

“It is, once you know how.” He handed the bow back to her. “You saw what I did? Good – you try it then.”

She took aim once more at the target, then hesitated. “I’m not sure…how much do I need to adjust my aim? Can you show me?”

He looked a little surprised. “Certainly, Your Grace. If you’ll allow me…”

“Of course,” she replied. She firmly ignored the part of her mind that protested at this coquettishness – she had seen exactly how he’d made the shot, and could easily have copied him without a demonstration. This internal argument was quickly silenced, however, when she felt him stand close behind her and put his arms around her as he showed her where to redirect her aim. She could feel his warmth, could almost feel his lips brush her cheek, and found it suddenly very difficult to concentrate on the target.

“All right – try that.”

She loosed the arrow, and this time, it found the target. It was still far from the bullseye, but it was a vast improvement, nonetheless.

She turned to face her companion and had to hide a smile when she saw he looked more than a little flustered. “Some success at last. I thank you kindly, Count Odo.”

“Any time, Your Grace.” He bowed. “I have other business to attend to now, if you’ll excuse me – but I look forward to seeing your progress on th’ next hunt.”

Meve had to remind herself not to stare as she watched him walk away. It was a little harmless flirting, she told herself, the type of which went on every day at court. Nothing could come of it, obviously, something he would know as well as she did – so what was the danger in it? She turned back to the targets and prepared to take aim again – trying to ignore the very pleasant fluttering sensation in her stomach as she remembered the feeling of his body just barely touching hers. She swallowed hard. No danger, she told herself. None at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Reynard had been utterly entranced by Meve since the moment he first saw her. She was bewitching – the way her golden hair caught the light, the grace with which she moved, her expressive eyes, her dazzling smile – but it was easy enough to dismiss, at first. He was only human, and he had eyes in his head; it was perfectly natural that he was attracted to her, and he was more than capable of ignoring a schoolboy crush on a beautiful woman. But as he began to get to know her, to discover the mind and the spirit behind the pretty face, his admiration only grew. He was not sure when he found her most beautiful – when her eyes lit up with interest and passion when they conversed about the kingdom and her new subjects, or when she sparred in the practice yard, her face contorted with effort as landed blow after blow. Yet, Reynard prided himself on his self-discipline – he could still admire her from a distance, he told himself, and enjoy her friendship, without behaving rashly. But he was finding he was having to remind himself of this more and more often, as they talked and laughed together, and night after night he found himself lying awake, thinking of those extraordinary blue eyes.

He was out enjoying a ride one fine afternoon when he met her in the woods nearby the castle.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” he called. “I see I’m not th’ only one who thought to enjoy the park today.”

“Good day, Reynard,” she replied with a blithe smile, and he ignored the leap his heart gave at hearing her say his name. “Indeed – though I’m afraid th’ necessity of escape prompted my desire to ride today, rather than th’ sunshine.”

“Oh?”

Meve pursed her lips. “Lady Juliet and Countess Letitia have been at each other’s throats all morning. I imagine you can guess why,” she added, with an arch look.

Reynard felt his jaw clench. Reginald’s rather cavalier attitude to women had not troubled him much in the past – he might roll his eyes at the king’s antics, but a king would do as he pleased, and as the Rivians would sometimes mutter to each other, as far as kingly vices went in the northern kingdoms, at least it wasn’t incest. But Reynard now found that he resented it more and more. What was the point of being married to the most extraordinary woman on the continent, he sometimes wanted to ask, if you were going to spend your time chasing any woman who'd so much as look at you? If he was so lucky as to be married to Meve – but Reynard quickly stopped that thought in its tracks.

“Riding alone?” he said, quickly changing the subject to something less inflammatory.

“Yes – I promised th’ guards I wasn’t riding far today.”

Reynard raised an eyebrow.

She laughed. “Perhaps I might have stretched th’ truth a little. But they do get in th’ way when I want to have a proper gallop. And besides, I have my sword – and now I have you with me – what harm could possibly befall me? If you’d care to ride with me, that is.”

“I’ve sworn an oath to serve you, my lady – how could I refuse? As long as you don’t think I’ll be too much in your way,” he teased.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out – a race back to th’ stables?”

They were neck and neck the whole way. Reynard knew the woods better, knew each twist and turn of the path, but Meve was an utterly fearless rider, jumping hedges, streams and fallen boughs without a whisper of hesitation. It was in the final stretch out of the woods that she finally gained the advantage, her headlong gallop leaving Reynard in the dust.

“I’ll add horse-racing to the list of things I can never hope to best you in, Your Grace,” he said, as they walked their horses back into the stable.

“There aren’t many who can outride me,” she said proudly. “But you’re far too honourable, Reynard. I’m sure there were half a dozen shortcuts you could have taken to beat me back.”

“And robbed you of your well-deserved victory? Never.”

“Shall I have a prize?” she asked playfully.

He swallowed. “What would you wish, Your Grace?”

She gave him a sidelong look that made heat rise to his face. “I shall have to think on it.”

They found the stables deserted. Reynard rolled his eyes. “Those stable lads. Absolutely good for nothing – any money says they’re out th’ back, playing at dice.”

“Ah well,” said Meve. “Fortunately, I can care for my mount myself. And Cygnet prefers me to anyone else, don’t you girl?”

They began to see to their horses in companionable silence.

“Oh, blast it,” said Meve, as she dropped her brush with a clatter. They both bent down to pick it up at the same time, their hands touching as they reached for it.

They both stood, and Reynard felt the breath catch in his throat at how close she was; he could see the faint freckles dotted over her nose and cheeks, the way her dark eyelashes faded to blonde at the tips. Neither of them moved, neither of them spoke. His heart raced in his chest as he gazed into those beautiful deep blue eyes. _You could drown in eyes like that_ , he thought – and he knew that he was utterly lost. He saw her tilt her chin up, felt the distance between them closing, knew that he should pull back, turn away, stop this in its tracks. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He closed his eyes. When he felt the first soft brush of her lips on his, he kissed her back.

It was hard to say how long it lasted – it somehow felt like both seconds and hours. He was conscious of nothing else but her mouth on his, the feeling of her hands on his back, in his hair, pulling him closer to her. It was only when they heard voices that they broke apart, both turning instantly and wordlessly to their mounts. When the errant stable lads returned, they noticed nothing out of the ordinary – except perhaps the remarkable concentration with which both the Queen and the Count were grooming their horses.

Reynard was in a daze for the rest of the afternoon. Surely it hadn’t actually happened, surely it had been some kind of daydream – though he could still feel her kisses on his mouth, her arms around his neck. Gods, could he really have done that? _Could he really have done something so stupid_? Somehow, he stumbled through conversations he couldn’t pay attention to, through a dinner where he barely tasted the food, until finally, he was alone in his room. He was preparing to settle in for what would surely be a sleepless night when he heard a noise at the window outside. He looked up in confusion and was startled to see Meve nudging the window open and lowering herself inside.

“Your Grace! What the devils –” He went to the window, looked up, then looked down, and shuddered. “You didn’t…” He turned back to look at her incredulously.

Meve looked extremely amused. “I used to do it often enough at Lyria Castle when I wished to escape notice, and Rivia is not built so differently.” Her tone was so nonchalant, one would think she hadn’t just been clambering down the stone edifice of a large castle.

He could only shake his head, trying not to think of the drop outside. He opened his mouth to ask what on earth she was doing here when she spoke first.

“Reynard – I’m sorry to intrude on you like this but – I had to see you. I haven’t been able to think of anything else all day…I feel like I’m going mad.” She looked away for a moment, then faced him once more. “I know I shouldn’t – we shouldn’t – but…” She sighed. “If you wish me to leave, I’ll go at once.”

He couldn’t help but take a step closer. “Won’t you be missed?”

She looked away again. “I don’t think so. I said I was going to bed – no one will disturb me. And th’ King,” she added, with an edge to her voice, “is otherwise occupied tonight.”

Reynard felt the familiar resentment rise in him. She wasn’t his, she never would be – but here she was, standing in front of him, wanting him just the same. And gods, how he wanted her. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair and eyes shone in the pale moonlight – she was utterly irresistible. _Maybe…maybe just this one time_. Gently, he tilted her face back up to his. “Then stay.” And then he kissed her. And kissed her again, and again, and again.

Of course, ‘just one time’ turned into many more times, though not as often as either would have liked. Every moment they had together was stolen, each kiss was precious and scarce. They met when they could, in whatever secret places they could find – Reynard was now especially grateful for the time he’d spent studying the plans of the castle and learning all its clandestine passageways and forgotten rooms. Sometimes they had a few hours together, more often a handful of minutes. Both knew that in public, they had to keep their distance, give rise to no suspicions, and both played their part as well as they could - for the stakes could hardly be higher.

There was a time or two, however, that they came close to being brazen: on a hunting party, Meve had expressed a wish to explore down an overgrown path off the main track.

“By all means, my dear – though I should hate to lose th’ scent of our quarry. Reynard, will you go with her?”

Reynard was incredulous, though he was careful to hide it. Could Reginald truly be so unsuspecting? Or was this some sort of test?

“Happily, sire,” he replied casually, as though he obeyed to oblige the King and not his Queen, and rode after Meve down the deserted trail.

They could not tarry too long; they only rode as far as necessary to be sure they could not be overheard or observed. Reynard sorely wished that they did not always have to hurry and hide; that they could take their time, that they could share something more than a few snatched minutes against a tree in the woods. He wished he could tell her how he felt – that he was deeply, desperately in love with her – but what would be the point? It could never come to anything, and saying the words would only bring them more heartbreak. And he wasn’t entirely sure how Meve felt about him, either – she seemed to care for him, but did she return his love? Or was he merely a distraction, an escape? He didn’t want to know. As it was, they were on borrowed time – and it could only be so long until it ran out.

“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” she sighed, pulling him closer.

“Me too,” he whispered, as he buried his face in her neck and her hair.

It was never enough. But it was all they had.

They re-joined the party before long, each appearing far calmer and more composed than they felt.

“Here come our bold adventurers!” The King cried exuberantly on their return. “Satisfied, my dear?”

“For now,” Meve replied to him, smiling.

Reginald frowned slightly. “You have something in your hair – looks like bark…”

Reynard cursed inwardly. He thought he’d picked it all out.

Meve’s smile did not falter for a second. “I might have climbed a tree or two, my lord.”

“Have you been letting my wife climb trees, Reynard?” said Reginald, turning to him with a bemused expression.

“D’you think I could have stopped her, Your Grace?” he replied, his nonchalant tone belying his hammering heart and sweaty palms.

“Ha! I suppose not.” The King turned back to Meve and kissed her hand gallantly, an admiring look in his eyes. Reynard breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but had to turn away before his expression could betray the jealousy that ate away at him.

Of course, their extraordinary luck could not hold forever. One evening, Reynard came to the King and found him celebrating with a few of his closest companions.

“Reynard! At last – here, have a glass.”

“What’s the occasion, sire?” Reynard asked, accepting the drink with some confusion.

“Why, th’ best of news – I’m to be a father! Already, hah, can you believe it?”

 _Fuck_.

It took all of Reynard’s considerable composure not to choke on the sip of wine he’d just taken. He forced a smile to his face, heard himself speak trite words of congratulations, even as he felt his blood run ice cold through his veins. He had no choice but to stay, to join in the banter and jests as best he could until at last, the hour was late enough that he could excuse himself.

He could not be entirely sure that being alone with his thoughts was an improvement, once he did make it back to his chambers. The enormity of what they’d done – the sheer foolishness, the risk they’d taken – finally hit him with its full weight. Of course, he’d known in the back of his mind the possible consequences; many times in the early hours of the morning, he’d made a firm resolution to break it off before their luck turned. And many times that firm resolve had crumbled instantly on seeing her, on knowing how his heart would break if he could never hold her again, never see the smile that was just for him, never hear her whisper his name in his ear. Well, now the price for that weakness would have to be paid.

Two awful scenarios stared Reynard in the face. He would either have to watch the woman he loved have another man’s child – _her husband’s child_ , he forced himself to think – or see his son or daughter raised as another’s. Which was worse, he could not say – nor was he sure he wanted to know the truth. He hardly dared to consider the much worse outcome: what they had done amounted to treason, and this was not the kind of betrayal Reginald was likely to forgive. Should it ever be discovered, they would surely both stand to lose their heads. He cursed himself; he wondered if in all of Rivian history there had ever before been a man stupid enough to commit treason a _second_ time after having been reprieved of his last sentence barely twelve months before. 

There was only one thing to be done. And when the cold, grey light of dawn came, Reynard found he finally had the resolve to do it. He waited until the arranged hour, then went to meet Meve, his heart heavy and his eyes red from the bitter tears he’d shed. When he saw her sitting on the window ledge, her knees hugged to her chest and looking every bit as devastated as he felt, it took all the strength he had not to throw his arms around her. But he stayed by the door, arms folded, trying to ignore the pain that felt like a knife in his chest.

“I heard th’ good news.” The words sounded curt, but he knew he had to get this over with as quickly as he could – or he’d never be able to do it.

“I wanted to tell you myself,” she said quietly. “But I thought it best to tell Reginald first. I’m sorry –”

“No matter.” He tried not to wince at how cold his voice sounded. “My congratulations, to you and His Majesty.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, and nodded. She turned to face the window. “I see you have reached th’ same conclusion as I have.” He saw how her arms tightened around her legs, as though she were trying to hold herself together.

“Your Grace –”

Abruptly, she stood and turned to him. “What else is there to say, Reynard?” The words were said without anger; she merely sounded exhausted. He noticed for the first time how pale and tired she looked, the shine of unshed tears in her eyes. He kept his arms firmly clasped against his chest, even as they ached to hold her – he feared if he did, he would never be able to let go.

Meve stared at him a moment, lips slightly parted, then shook her head. “I can’t bear this – I can’t stand it a second longer.” Then she fairly ran out the door, fingers dashing the tears from her cheeks as she went. And just like that, she was gone.

Reynard stayed where he was for a long time, staring at the wall. The ending which had been spelled out for them from the very start had still managed to catch him by surprise. How was he to go on now? How was he to try and put himself back together, now that his heart was lost for good?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: the very talented [zarilia](https://zarilia.tumblr.com/) has treated us to some gorgeous art of [young Reynard in the stables](https://zarilia.tumblr.com/post/634256947389071360/long-time-no-reynard-here-let-me-fix-this-young) 😍❤️❤️


	3. Chapter 3

Grief came in many different forms, Meve had learned over the years. In the months after she and Reynard had ended things between them, she had felt apart from the rest of the world, utterly detached; it was as though there was a glass wall between her and everyone around her. Even though she had felt so numb, tears had still flown at the drop of a hat for months – this she had blamed on the baby, and fortunately, no one had questioned it. The fear that had kept her awake at night, praying to every god and goddess she knew, that her child would not resemble the wrong man, and then the relief she’d felt when she’d borne her golden-haired boy, who so strongly favoured his mother that no one had ever bothered to look for a resemblance to his father, were the only emotions she’d felt for a long time.

Slowly, somehow, she’d pulled herself out of the fog. She’d recovered her sense of purpose, in slowly gaining the power and influence she needed to take a more active role in governing the two kingdoms. Reginald, who’d grown to respect and trust his wife immensely, had seemed delighted to let her take on the responsibilities he had never cared for. Gradually, Meve found her way back to contentment, if not happiness – the joy of that reckless summer seemed like a dream now, and such complete bliss forever beyond her grasp. It didn’t help that she and Reynard had to encounter each other daily; he was still Reginald’s ever-present right hand. To have to speak to him, laugh with him, pretend that nothing had gone awry between them was a torture that took a long time to lose its sting.

It had been easier between them, in some ways, once Reginald had died; the tension had seemed to ease, as though they could both breathe a little easier now that the old fear of discovery had passed. They had been able to work together, even become friends once more, though Meve always felt the distance between them: the wariness that never quite left Reynard’s eyes, the way he used formality almost as a shield against her. The pain that she’d once felt on seeing him had lessened, but she could not honestly say that her feelings for him had changed in any way. In fact, after the last few months, after all they had been through, all he had done for her, she knew she was more in love with him than ever. There might be grey in his hair now, and perhaps these days he frowned more often than he smiled, but his dark eyes could still make her heart race. Sometimes, when she lay awake at night, she wondered if she could ever ask his forgiveness, ask if he still cared for her too – then she would remember all the pain she’d caused him, and know she had no right to hurt him any more than she already had.

It was a different kind of grief that was plaguing Meve today. The glory of winning the impossible battle, the triumph of once more sitting in her rooms in Rivia Castle, tasted of naught but ashes. She had often contemplated the costs of waging this war, the price she might pay for victory, and none had seemed too high. But now she had paid a price more dear than she had ever imagined – she’d buried her first-born son just that morning. This time, the grief hit her in waves, the pain and guilt striking without warning. She’d tried over the years, tried hard not to resent her son for the loss that his existence had caused. She knew it was not his fault; the blame lay squarely with her. But still, she had been too hard on him, too harsh. All his life he had sought her approval, and now only finally gained it in dying. She had returned to her rooms immediately after the service, wishing only to be alone, and cried until she could cry no more. Now she sat listlessly by the window, gazing out at the bright sunshine without truly seeing it at all.

A knock on her door startled her. She’d given strict instructions she was not to be disturbed. “Yes?” she called out tersely, her voice hoarse.

There was silence for a moment. Then: “It’s me, Your Grace.”

Her jaw clenched. Out of anyone, Reynard was the last person she wanted to see right now. She’d seen the look on his face before. She’d guessed his thoughts when their eyes had met. And she didn’t know if she could face such a conversation right now. But neither could she bring herself to turn away her oldest friend.

“Come in,” she said softly, turning back to the window.

She heard him enter quietly and shut the door behind him.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” she heard him say. “I know you wanted to be alone…”

“Indeed.” She sighed, still not quite able to face him. “Truly, Reynard, can’t this wait? Whatever it is?”

He was silent for a long moment. “In truth…no, it can’t. I swear I’ll leave you be, as long as you wish, as soon as...but please – Meve – I must speak with you. Now. If I may.”

She felt an ache in her chest when she heard him say her name – he was always so careful to maintain protocol, regardless of the circumstances. She heard the pleading in his voice, too; it was so rare for Reynard to insist on anything that Meve felt unable to refuse. Wordlessly, she nodded, then forced herself to turn her head and meet his gaze.

“I’ve never wished to dwell on th’ past when there was nothing to gain from it but regret,” he said slowly. She could see how the words cost him. “But now, after everything that’s happened…Meve, I’m sorry, I’ve no wish to rub salt in th’ wound – but I have to ask. Was he – was he my son?” His voice cracked a little as he spoke.

Meve had known he must always have wondered. She’d noticed how careful he’d always been - scrupulously cautious - to avoid giving Villem any unusual amount of attention, always careful not to appear too close, wary of giving anyone pause for thought. But she’d caught him staring at the boy every now and then with a searching gaze, and knew what he was thinking. Meve had also strongly suspected that this was what had driven him to try and mend the breach between her and her son. That reminder of their past had made his betrayal cut a hundred times deeper. She’d been so angry at him. How much she regretted that, now.

“I – I was never sure,” she confessed. “Th’ hours I spent whilst I carried him, trying to work it out…but I don’t know. I could never see a resemblance, to either of you. Th’ last few years, I must confess I thought he was taking after Reginald, he seemed so…so witless, but…” Her eyes stung with tears as guilt pricked her gain. She drew in a breath, trying to steady her voice. “His final act…perhaps he was more like you than I thought.”

Reynard said not a word, but came to sit down beside her.

“I’m so sorry – that I can’t tell you –”

“No, Meve, please don’t be troubled by it. What does it change, in th’ end?” he said gently. “It’s something I must live with, as you have. What young fools we were,” he added. There was only the barest trace of bitterness in his voice.

“You say that as if we’re so much older and wiser now,” she replied, with a faint snort. “Older I might be, but sometimes I feel as much a fool as I ever was then.”

She felt all the weight of the things that had gone unsaid now, in their silence. They had both tried for so long to ignore the past, to bury it, to forget what they had once shared. And if you’d asked her yesterday, Meve might have thought they’d succeeded, in the most part. But now she felt all those years of silence and concealed hurt stretching between them – and knew that if they did not speak of it now, perhaps they never would.

Meve forced herself to speak, almost tripping over the words in her haste to say them before she lost her nerve. “I never said I was sorry. Young as I was, I still should have known better. I wasn’t free. I had no right to –”

“Meve. D’you really believe you’re any more to blame than I am? I knew exactly what I was doing. If my heart was broken, it was my fault alone.” She met his gaze and saw the same pain that she’d felt for all these years mirrored there.

“I fear these old wounds never healed right,” Meve sighed, looking out the window. “There are things we should have talked of long ago. But I loved you too much to bear th’ pain of revisiting the past; perhaps if I’d loved you less, I might have found it easier to speak.”

He was silent for a moment. Then she heard him say softly: “So you did love me then, Meve?”

She turned back to face him, her heart almost too full to speak. “Oh, Reynard.” She reached out to put her hand to his cheek. “I never stopped.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then shut his eyes tight and turned his head away. But his hand held hers fast to his face, and he pressed his lips to her palm. “There’s never been anyone but you,” he said finally, in a low voice. “There could never be anyone else for me.”

When they finally held each other, Meve was utterly overwhelmed by the once-familiar sensation of Reynard’s arms around her. It had been so long since she had had the comfort of anyone’s touch, let alone the man she had loved; it was not long before the tears began to flow down her cheeks again. How long had it been since she’d felt so beloved? Not since the last time she’d been in his arms.

“Reynard,” she said, when she could speak again, “Please, can we – will you –”

“Whatever you want, my love. Whatever you want.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I want to wake up beside you every morning – I want to tell you I love you every day. Gods, I want th’ whole damn world to know just how much I care for you.” She pulled back a little, to look at him, and saw his cheeks were wet with tears, too. The expression in his eyes made her heart ache – she’d never thought she’d see him look at her like that again.

They paused there, for a moment, gazing at each other. Meve held still, hoping, waiting; she wanted to kiss him more than anything, but wanted also to let Reynard decide the pace at which things moved. Her patience was rewarded when tentatively, carefully, he leaned forwards, and their lips met. It was a soft kiss, a slow kiss, a very sweet kiss; and for a long time after they sat together, hands clasped, heads touching, speaking to each other the words of love they’d been denied for so long.

It seemed all the happiness she had known for a long time was bittersweet; simple, uncomplicated joy was a sensation lost to long-ago youth. No gain was without loss; she must rejoice in regaining the love of her life even as mourned her son’s cruel death. But if the war had reminded her of anything it was that life was too short to let something so precious slip through one’s fingers – and she and Reynard had lost enough time already. The pain was still there, and the grief. It felt as though her heart had been broken all over again. But this time, she hoped, it would heal properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of songs that have me thinking of Meve and Reynard lately - but [this one in particular](https://youtu.be/nleRCBhLr3k) I listened to quite a few times whilst writing this story #feels


End file.
